When the last trumpet’s awful voice
This rending earth shall shake;
When op’ning graves shall yield their charge
And dust to life awake;
Those bodies that corrupted fell,
Shall incorrupt arise,
And mortal forms shall spring to life
Immortal in the skies.
Behold, what heav’nly prophets sung
Is now at last fulfilled;
And Death yields up his ancient reign,
And, vanquished, quits the field.
Let Faith exalt her joyful voice,
And now in triumph sing:
‘O Grave, where is thy victory?
And where, O Death, thy sting?’